James Potter and the Morrigan Web

by G. Norman Lippert

  "Welcome, visiting dignitaries, and especially our Muggle brothers and sisters from the world over," she said comfortably, her voice echoing broadly up into the grandstands. "Let this be the first of many such occasions as we progress into a new era of cooperation and mutual friendship…"

  The Quidditch players shuffled impatiently before Lyddia Vassar as she launched into a somewhat droning, albeit flowery speech, taking full advantage of her coveted moment in the spotlight.

  "Come on," James muttered, ducking as casually as he could out of the shadows and crossing toward the Ravenclaw grandstand. Fortunately, a large number of students were still milling along the edge of the pitch, offering James, Rose and Scorpius a modicum of cover. When they reached the giants seated beneath the Ravenclaw banner, James was once again amazed at their sheer size. Even seated, Prechka looked like a vaguely person-shaped mountain draped with inexpertly sewn hunks of burlap. The coloured fringes of her smock fluttered in the breeze. All the alertness had fallen from her face, however, as Lyddia Vassar's speech blared on. The she-giant glanced down at James as he crept next to her. Before she could speak, he shushed her with a finger to his lips. She looked quizzical for a moment, cocking her head curiously. Giants, James knew from experience, were not exactly the smartest creatures in the wizarding world. Thankfully, however, an expression of exaggerated comprehension washed slowly over Prechka's features. She nodded and pressed a trunk-sized finger to her own slab-like lips.

  With that, James, Rose and Scorpius slipped into her shadow, angling toward the darkness of the Ravenclaw locker room doors. A moment later, they trotted along the short tunnel beneath the grandstand, casting around for any sign of Tabitha Corsica or the trio of adults that had preceded her.

  "Drat, I wish I had my wand," Scorpius muttered as the shadows grew thick around them. The Ravenclaw locker area was unlit and empty, echoing with the dull thunder of footsteps high above, and beyond that, the unintelligible drone of Lyddia Vassar's speech.

  "Which way could she have gone?" Rose whispered, casting left to right at the intersection which marked the tunnels to the other grandstands. On either side, stairs led down into lantern-lit passageways.

  "We'll have to split up," James said reluctantly. "You two try the Gryffindor tunnel. If you see dad, Uncle Ron and Aunt Hermione, warn them that Tabitha's prowling around for them. And if you find Tabitha…"

  "Tackle her," Scorpius shrugged irritably. "Without wands, it's the best we can do."

  James nodded. "She can't be allowed to interfere, no matter what."

  "What about you?" Rose demanded, hopping nervously from foot to foot. "You'll be by yourself!"

  "I do wish Ralph was along," James admitted. "But we don't have any choice. Go! They'll unveil the Chalice at any moment!"

  Obviously unsatisfied but sensing there were no other options, Rose and Scorpius ducked into the left tunnel. James watched their shadows scuttle along the stone wall until they were gone. He gulped, turned toward the right tunnel, and realized just how ardently he wished he had his own wand with him, Morrigan Web or not. Steeling himself, he ran down the steps and into the tunnel.

  The passage curved slightly to the right, obstructing the view so that James felt sure he would encounter Tabitha at any second, her wand pointed at him and a triumphant grin on her face. He forced himself to run on regardless, eventually spying the stone steps and faint daylight of the Hufflepuff locker area. He scampered up and threw himself against the inside wall of the stairway, breathing hard and feeling horribly defenceless. Furtively, he glanced around the corner, first into the brightly lit but apparently empty Hufflepuff locker room, then along the short passage leading to the pitch.

  Framed by the open doors, James could see the grassy pitch stretching away, crowded with the Hufflepuff and Slytherin players, their brooms held upright at their sides. Lyddia Vassar was facing away from him, her wand still raised to her throat, her voice still casting flat echoes up into the grandstands. At her heels, the Crystal Chalice still stood covered in black cloth, flanked by Professors Heretofore and Shert, their wands at the ready.

  And crouched just inside the double doors, her own wand protruding from her fist, was Tabitha Corsica.

  James' breath caught in his chest, amplifying the thunderous pounding of his heart. Corsica seemed to be watching the ceremony avidly, her gaze sweeping the pitch as if searching for something.

  "And that is why," Lyddia Vassar's voice rang out, "we are proud to present this, our latest and perhaps most important discovery, the fabled Crystal Chalice of Timor Roon, the last king of the united wizarding world, nineteenth in line from the elder King Kreagle, and last to witness an age of Muggle and magical coexistence. Some say his was a rule of despotism and tyranny, but that is all the more reason that this, his most famous relic, should herald an age of mutual tolerance and respect…"

  James crept forward as these words filled his ears, approaching Corsica as quickly and carefully as he could. She did not move, but continued to crouch just inside the open door, her wand brandished at the ready. James' breath grew stale in his chest but he refused to breathe, refused to make the slightest noise as he skulked closer… closer…

  Somehow, even over the noise of Vassar's echoing speech, Corsica heard him. She turned, glancing back over her shoulder and spying James with one bright, dark eye.

  James threw himself upon her, reaching for her wand. Amazingly, he grasped it and succeeded in wrenching it from her hand. She pivoted, throwing him from her shoulders into the corner between the tunnel wall and the doorway. James clambered around, however, and pointed Corsica's wand back at her, stopping her in her tracks.

  "What are you doing, you complete idiot!" she demanded, her voice a hard rasp.

  "I'm stopping you!" James replied, his own voice hushed desperately. "Now get back away from the door!"

  "James," Corsica seethed, refusing to budge. "Give me back my wand. Now!"

  James shook his head fervently, knowing that the Morrigan Web might be unleashed at any second. If it was, he would be killed. "Get back, Tabitha! I don't know what you're about, but this stops now! You're not going to interfere!"

  "If I don't interfere, you perfect fool," she said urgently, "your father will go to Azkaban!"

  James blinked at the tall witch, baffled and shocked by her words but refusing to lower her wand. He circled her, putting his back to the locker room. "How do you know my dad's here?"

  "Because," she rolled her eyes impatiently. "He's Harry Potter. He's here to save the day, as I knew he would be. You told him your daft suspicions about the Morrigan Web and he and his friends were stupid enough to believe you. I was watching for them and witnessed them slipping beneath the Ravenclaw grandstand. I followed, meaning to find them before it's too late. My intention is to warn them that the day doesn't need to be saved."

  "You're a liar," James exclaimed, renewing his grip on her wand. "You're in on it! You have to be!"

  "If I was," Corsica answered immediately, taking a step toward James, "would I be hiding here with a wand in my hand?"

  James shook his head in angry confusion. "You're crazy! Just like the night of the Triumvirate when you thought you were the bloodline of Voldemort! You couldn't possibly want to help my dad! You hate him!"

  Corsica took another step toward James, forcing him to back further away. "Think back to when I first confronted you at Yorke," she demanded, speaking very quickly. "Do you recall when I told you that a certain mysterious benefactor had intervened on my behalf, recommending me for that post? Few members of the Wizengamot were inclined to listen to him, but he was very insistent, recommending-- and obtaining-- the dissolution of my probation in Australia."

  James was barely listening, his mind reeling. Beyond Corsica, Lyddia Vassar seemed to be concluding her speech. A smattering of applause began to build in the grandstands overhead.

  "Stay back, Tabitha," James insisted, the wand trembling in his hand. Despite this, she continued to close in
on him, "My mysterious benefactor," she said, her eyes locked onto his, "was none other than Harry Potter. Your father risked his own reputation to recommend me, despite everything that had happened. That's why I didn't tell Headmaster Grudje enough to get you expelled, even though you surely deserved it. And that's why I came here to watch for him, to prevent him from dashing out onto the pitch in the mistaken conviction that he is saving the world. All he will do is get himself and his friends arrested in the middle of the highest security event in wizarding history. He will go to prison, James, and be ruined for life. We have only seconds to prevent that."

  "But…" James stammered, his resolve weakening as he attempted to absorb Tabitha's revelations. "But the Morrigan Web! It's the Crystal Chalice! It has to be!"

  "It is not," Corsica declared urgently. "There are three markers for identifying the Morrigan Web."

  James nodded, still backing away from Corsica, her wand still raised in his fist. "I know! It has to belong to a powerful dead witch or wizard, and it has to be the centrepiece! It fits perfectly!"

  "You missed the third requirement, James," Corsica exclaimed, holding her hand out for her wand. "The third requirement is time! It takes months for the enchanted object to steep in its destined location, to build its power, to reach the proper culmination of strength. The Chalice only arrived last night! It couldn't spawn a single magical spark, much less the Morrigan Web!"

  "Time…" James repeated, stunned. Could Tabitha Corsica, his long-time nemesis, be telling the truth? Was the Crystal Chalice actually harmless, nothing more than a curious relic passed off as a sporting trophy? If it was, then his dad was indeed charging into capture and imprisonment at the hands of his own partner, Titus Hardcastle. He glared at Corsica, trapped in a hopeless, crippling web of indecision.

  "How can I trust you?" he demanded, nearly shouting as the applause rose to deafening levels outside.

  "Because I have nothing to gain by lying!" she yelled in answer, raising her own voice.

  James' heart was slamming against his ribs, his mind reeling. Finally, as the roar of the crowd reached its zenith, he threw down Corsica's wand and pelted past her, aiming for the daylight of the pitch.

  As he emerged, the crowd cheered seamlessly, filled with stamping feet and waving banners. James bolted onto the pitch, threading clumsily through the standing players, trying to look in all directions at once for any sign of his dad, uncle or aunt. He shoved past Albus, knocking aside his broom.

  In the centre of the pitch, Professors Heretofore and Shert were levitating the draped Crystal Chalice again, raising it high into the air. With an additional, practiced flick of her wand, Heretofore jerked the draping fabric from the Chalice, whipping it off with a sweeping flourish. Sunlight glinted prisms from the great crystal cup as it floated overhead, turning gently and casting refractions down onto the grass of the pitch.

  "Dad! No!" James called, but it was a moment too late. A dark flying shape rocketed out of the shadow of the Slytherin grandstand, angling straight for the Crystal Chalice. Two more shapes joined it, erupting from the shadows around the pitch. James recognized the dark-robed shapes immediately-- his dad, uncle and aunt on brooms they had found stowed in the team locker rooms. They surrounded the floating Chalice, spinning in tightening spirals, their wands extended. Overwhelming Heretofore's and Shert's levitation spells, they captured the Chalice and carried it between them, shooting up into the deep blue sky.

  Several shapes launched into the air after them-- Titus Hardcastle and his squad of Aurors, of course. They hurtled upwards, wands extended, red Stunning spells lancing into the sky.

  "They're stealing the Quidditch trophy!" Nolan Beetlebrick shouted, pointing. "Get them!"

  "Wait!" Albus cried, understanding dawning on him, but his voice was drowned in a chorus of angry shouts.

  Cabe Ridcully blew his whistle frantically as both the Slytherin and Hufflepuff teams sprung into the air, following the Aurors in pursuit of the still rising trio of apparent thieves.

  "Dad!" James called up, stumbling into the centre of the field. He could no longer make out the shapes of his father, uncle and aunt. They were lost in the swirling cloud of Aurors and Quidditch players trailing after them. "Dad! Stop! Don't--!"

  A flare of white light and a concussive blast filled the air high overhead, repelling the nearest pursuers, who tumbled back momentarily before righting themselves again.

  "They destroyed it," Cabe Ridcully declared wonderingly, his voice clearly heard in the momentary shocked silence that followed. "Why would anyone destroy the Quidditch trophy?"

  "It took us twelve years to locate that Chalice," Lyddia Vassar said, her voice dull with shock.

  "Capture them!" Someone in the Hufflepuff grandstand called shrilly. "Don't let them get away!"

  It was the only encouragement the crowd needed. A massive, angry roar exploded overhead, followed by a forest of raised wands. Red bolts peppered the air, even as the Aurors circled in on their quarry, surrounding them high overhead. James craned his head to see, squinting helplessly, unable to make anything out from such a distance without his glasses. Dimly, he was aware of Scorpius and Rose joining him on the centre line.

  "Did we win?" Rose asked breathlessly, shading her eyes with the flat of her hand as she stared straight up. "Did they destroy the Chalice before it could go off?"

  "They totally lied about not using their wands," Scorpius said, shaking his head.

  James dropped his gaze. Above and across from him, his mother stood in the VIP box, both hands over her mouth, her eyes wide and tense as she craned up at the milling broom riders. In front of her, the Minister of Magic looked completely stunned and horrified. Headmaster Grudje, however, merely glared down at James, a wry twinkle in his grey eyes.

  Suddenly Scorpius grabbed James' shoulder and pointed to the side. "Look out! Here comes Corsica!"

  Ignoring Scorpius, Tabitha Corsica joined the gathering in the middle of the pitch, peering mildly up at the gawking, swooping Quidditch players. In the centre, Titus Hardcastle and his Aurors lowered slowly, their wands trained on the three dark-clad figures.

  "You know, James," Corsica said, pocketing her wand. "This reminds me of your first year, when you tried to steal my broom." She sighed lightly and shook her head. "You really do have a thing for ruining Quidditch tournaments, don't you?"

  Slightly over two hours later, James, Scorpius and Rose met Ralph and Albus at the edge of the pitch. The match had finally concluded with a Hufflepuff victory, much to Albus' compounded disgust. Bedraggled and sweaty in his green tunic, he dragged his broom behind him, fuming blackly as the fivesome ducked beneath the Gryffindor banner, seeking the trunk hidden at the rear of the grandstand.

  Wind whipped capriciously around them, snapping the banners high overhead and carrying grit into the air. A pall of clouds had pushed in over the course of the match, blotting out the sun and dropping the temperature by ten degrees, as if the weather itself was competing with the confused darkness of James' own mood.

  No one spoke of the fiasco which had preceded the match. The one small mercy to come from it was that Titus Hardcastle had allowed the three "thieves" to remain in their cloaks and hoods during the course of their arrest, thus preserving the secret of their identities. Lucinda Lyon had taken charge of security for the remainder of the match while Titus and a second Auror escorted the three figures back to the castle at wandpoint, accompanied by resounding boos and jeers from the uniformly furious crowd.

  Mingled with the deep disappointment about the arrest of James', Albus' and Rose's parents was the strange and unexpected relief that, in spite of everything that had gone wrong, everyone had survived the Quidditch Summit. There had been no attack. The Morrigan Web had not gone off. In all the feverish worry and preparation for disaster, this was the one outcome that James had completely failed to consider-- that he had been, quite simply, wrong.

  But Avior said he was going to attack the Summit, he reminded himself. Had the
twisted old wizard simply been lying? Was he, perhaps, insane? Delusional? Surely that was a possibility, considering the cracked nature of his past, and yet...

  As the five students rounded the corner of the grandstand, James was not exactly surprised to find a gaggle of waiting students, all looking terse and impatient. More seemed to be approaching from the exiting throng as the grandstands emptied, accompanied by a distantly echoing fanfare of Professor Flitwick's band.

  "That was some 'attack'!" Fiona Fourcompass called accusingly, spying James. "It was nothing more than a stupid prank! Who were they, anyway?"

  A chorus of angry shouts followed this as the crowd milled around James, Ralph and Rose, demanding both explanations and their wands back.

  Hurriedly, Ralph dropped to one knee before a large, mossy boulder. Scrabbling behind it, he retrieved his own hidden wand, and then tapped the boulder with it. A shimmer of light transformed the boulder into an old Quidditch trunk, which Ralph then wrenched open. A pile of wands lay inside like pickup sticks. The crowd collapsed upon the trunk, dozens of hands reaching for their wands. Suddenly, a horribly familiar voice called clearly over the noise, startling the crowd into silence and making James jump.

  "Back away from the trunk, if you please," the voice commanded sternly, brooking no argument. As if to emphasize this, the trunk slammed shut of its own accord, nearly chopping off a number of reaching fingers.

  James turned, a weight of deep dismay descending on him like lead. The crowd of students parted behind him, backing away to reveal the much taller figure of Headmaster Grudje, his wand held lazily in his thin fingers. He flicked it. In response, the trunk lifted into the air, soared down the aisle formed by the parted students, and plunked neatly at Grudje's feet.